


Life's a Beach

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mojo-related, Spies & Secret Agents, Summer, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Illya is assigned to keep an eye on his partner while Napoleon (who's lost his mojo) takes a short vacation at the Jersey Shore.





	Life's a Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlintheglen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/gifts).



> This was written for "The Summer of Man from UNCLE" challenge on Section VII, Live Journal. It's a bit late, but better late than never, has become my motto.

Napoleon Solo was beyond dog tired after his last assignment, and that condition forced him to make a decision, which was to put in a request for vacation.

Alexander Waverly was hesitant to approve it as Solo was his best field operative and there was need for his services. However, he’d been informed by Doctor Greene, the head of the Medical suite here at headquarters, that his top agent was badly in need of rest and recuperation.

Returning him to the field in his current state would only increase the man’s chances of being killed, and that certainly wouldn’t do the Command any good at all. If they lost Solo, Kuryakin would have to be moved up in the ranks to Chief Enforcement Agent as the man was Solo’s second, but Waverly felt his Russian operative just wasn’t ready for such a promotion.

Illya was not exactly known for his social skills, which were requisite to the role of CEA. Moving someone else to the position instead of Kuryakin might rub the former Soviet agent the wrong way, and that just wouldn’t do either.

Kuryakin being promoted to CEA also created an additional issue in that there was a certain element among UNCLE employees who, despite warnings, just didn’t take well to the fact that a former Russian agent and Communist was among their ranks.  

Putting the man in such a position of authority would most likely bode ill for morale. The Cold War loomed daily despite the organization’s best efforts to keep such political tensions at bay.

Waverly knew he couldn’t simply rid the organization of these naysayers en masse either. The ranks would be depleted, and would clearly affect the effectiveness of their operations. If that were the case then UNCLE would be fighting a losing battle against THRUSH and any other nefarious groups that reared their ugly heads.

Though Napoleon Solo was in the field, his role as CEA gave him other responsibilities, foremost of which was his training to eventually become the Continental Chief for UNCLE Northwest. He was in fact Waverly’s heir apparent and the Old Man had no intention of training a new heir at the moment.

That being the case meant that Solo was given deference or a sort when compared to other field agents, though Waverly was wont to admit it.  No one dared mention it or point it out, least of all his partner.

Kuryakin knew his role as number 2- Section II carried with it certain duties, some of which were not listed in his job description. Though a few of these responsibilities Illya took on himself, foremost of which was that of being the self proclaimed bodyguard to his partner.

He was cognizant of the importance of Solo’s position, and though Napoleon was expendable like any other agent,  as CEA he was somewhat less dispensable than others.

Alexander Waverly was well aware of Illya’s actions, time and again putting his life on the line to save his partner.  

He never asked his Russian agent to do it, and had ordered Kuryakin to cease and desist, but that was like talking to the Berlin Wall.

It was for that reason that Alexander Waverly decided to make his number two agent’s next assignment...Napoleon Solo. It was just to be on the safe side, though his CEA would not be made aware of this arrangement.

With Napoleon not being himself, Waverly was concerned he might fall victim to one of the many enemies he’d made over the years, among them numbered a fair few of the feminine persuasion. 

He knew women were Solo’s foible, and the man not being up to snuff put him all the more at risk. 

Napoleon was told four days vacation, period. He was to keep it nearby if in the event of an emergency that required his services, since THRUSH was active again and keeping a number of other agents busy. Said vacation was to be kept restful, period.

Once Napoleon made his decision on his destination, that information was given to Security as well as Waverly.

It was after he made those arrangements that Kuryakin was called into the Old Man’s conference room, though already aware that his partner would be departing on his brief holiday.

Alexander Waverly bit down on the mouthpiece of his pipe before setting it down in the the crystal ashtray on his conference table.

Reaching for his wooden humidor and opening; he hissed a curse. “Dammit, out of tobacco again!”  

He reached to a toggle switch located on his console.

“Miss Rogers, please send someone immediately to my tobacconist; I’m out again.”

“Right away sir.” Seconds later Lisa Rogers stepped through the pneumatic doors as they opened with a gentle swish. Not saying another word, she picked up the humidor and left.

“Now Mister Kuryakin, I have a tricky assignment for you which will no doubt require your surveillance skills at their best.”

Illya leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Yes sir?”

“Young man, you are being assigned to watch over your partner on this so-called holiday of his. Of course you are to keep your distance. It will be no easy task, as you must not let him become aware of your presence. You are keep him out of harm’s way. We both know trouble tends to follow Mr. Solo wherever he goes, whether it is from an enemy agent or that of the female persuasion.”

Illya cocked an eyebrow. “Yes sir. Mr. Solo does tend to attract them.  May I ask why I am guarding him while on his holiday?” 

“I’m sure you are aware of your partner being a bit off his game; it is for that reason that I fear he will be vulnerable to anyone who might want to take him out.”

“I understand sir. He will remain safe, on this I give you my word.” 

“Don’t go making promises you may not be able to keep young man, but that being said...well, just keep him out of harm’s way please, and don’t go getting yourself killed either. I can’t afford to lose you as well.”

Illya felt the gravity of the Old Man’s words. 

“I will keep you apprised of the situation sir.” 

“Good. Mr. Solo will be taking the ferry over to New Jersey to a little shore town called Keansburg. It was somewhat of a tourist destination until hurricane Donna did sizeable damage to it but now it’s just a sleepy little town. I was somewhat surprised at his choice but then again, perhaps he is taking Doctor Greene’s instructions for rest to heart. This is an out of the way place for him, where he isn’t known and that is in your favor on this assignment.”

Illya lowered his head in an attempt to hide his half smile as he thought to himself, “ _Rest? There is not a restful bone in the man’s body.”_

Though Napoleon Solo was somewhat laid back, he was still a man of action and liked to be in the thick of it, whatever it was...

 

**********

 

Napoleon, after agreeing to Waverly’s little caveat upon being granted his too brief sabbatical, wasn’t thrilled.

Still, he knew he really had to take it easy for once; no dining out or dancing with the ladies to the wee hours, no late nights in amorous pursuits; just a relaxing little vacation…out of the city. He could have gone and hidden out in his parent’s cabin in the Catskills but no, he needed to enjoy the last of the summer weather. Next week was Labor Day, the unofficial end of the season.

“God that sounds so boring,” he mumbled to himself as he boarded the ferry that would take him over to Jersey. Since it was still summer, that meant sand, surf and bathing beauties; that was more like it and better than the solitude of the family cabin.

He’d called ahead, renting a small house near the beach and once there, all he had to do to get to the surf and sand was to literally cross the road.

Though a hurricane had wiped out much of the waterfront area in 1960, it was still a quaint little town with a number of beach front homes and bungalows aplenty available for the tourist trade. Sadly many of them went unrented now as tourism had waned. 

One of the few things to do in town was to walk to a local amusement park that had the typical sort of kiddy rides, a colorfully painted carousel, as well as arcades and games of chance.

There he could saunter anonymously, get a waffle cone, or a local confection called zeppoles; they were fried dough covered in powdered sugar. There were a few pizzerias, some local mom and pop restaurants, and a fair number of local bars where he could get a drink or two if he so desired. He could just be anonymous, like a local.

Napoleon leaned on the rail to the ferry, breathing in the salt air. That was something he loved. He supposed he could have taken his own yacht for the trip, but then he’d have to find a marina, play mooring fees, get transportation... that just sounded like too much like work for once; he was after all, supposed to be taking it easy.

“Nope, it’s going to be a nice quiet uneventful week, and that’s fine with me,” he whispered under his breath to himself.

Illya watched his partner as he leaned on the railing, he was standing towards the stern of the boat, keeping his distance.  The Russian had disguised himself as an older gentleman, wearing dark glasses a baggy shirt, a light beige cardigan and an atrocious looking pair of multicolor plaid trousers.The sweater at least helped to tone down the pants. On his head he’d plopped a floppy tan fishing hat and that nestled atop a grey wig. He’d applied a matching moustache and beard as well.

To anyone who cared to look at him, he resembled an old gaffer, perhaps a fisherman and nothing more.

As good as his disguise was, he was was regretting his choice, well actually the clothing, not for the lack color coordination, (which he’d discovered was a trend with old men in the area)  but because the weather was hotter than he’d anticipated. Illya had forgotten to check the weather report...

The breeze from the ferry moving atop the water helped somewhat, until Kuryakin began to feel a tad nauseous. All he could do was hope he wouldn’t become sea sick. He’d taken some ginger tablets and sipped from a can of Canada Dry ginger ale, which seemed to help.  He assumed the nauseousness was due to his being overheated.

He continually checked his moustache and beard as his perspiring wasn’t helping the adhesive he’d used to apply everything.

“Hey grandpa, what’s your favorite color?” Snickered an obnoxious and rotund little boy with an ice cream cone in his hand. “I guess every color since that’s what’s you’re wearing Pops! Hahaha!” 

Illya leaned towards the child, speaking sotto voce. 

“If you do not disappear, I will shove that ice cream cone down your throat; making you choke and unable to call for help, then I will throw you over the side to be eaten by that shark.” Kuryakin pointed at a fin that had conveniently broken the surface of the water, it apparently was following the ferry. “I am sure it will be happy to eat a fat little boy such as yourself.”

He smiled as the look of horror on the child’s face was priceless while the boy back away, disappearing as he’d been told. Illya actually liked children, just not obnoxious ones; he imagined himself being a father someday, if he lived to retirement age...though he doubted he would.  Of course that was his fatalistic side talking as usual. 

Once the boat landed, Illya quickly discarded his current  disguise. Beneath his old geezer disguise he was wearing a tee-shirt and a pair of boardshorts...typical surfer’s attire. Switching to flip flops, and oversized sunglasses, he wore a baseball cap to hide his blond hair, he quickly switched to a petite goatee beard making him look all the more like a beach bum. 

He was sure this would be sufficient enough to remain anonymous while following Napoleon at a distance, and to Kuryakin’s relief there were several other surfer types walking about. 

One greeted him with the shaka sign, which consisted of extending the thumb and smallest finger while holding the three middle fingers curled, giving it a little wave. 

“What’s happening dude? Gonna hit the waves?” 

“Yes, hitting the waves...dude.” Illya parroted back.

“Don’t bother trying here, they’re not very gnarly...better you should go down to Sandy Hook. There’s some okay action there.”

“Thank you. Umm, thanks for the heads up...man,” Illya was a little stiff in the delivery but used the shaka sign in return.

“Yeah, hang loose dude,” the surfer continued walking.

Illya turned and momentarily felt a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as he’d lost sight of Napoleon. He had the address of the house his partner had rented, and Waverly made arrangements for Illya to stay at similar accommodations nearby. That was where Solo had to be.

Following over a few blocks, he finally caught up and watched as Napoleon entered a small house.

The address where Illya was staying was right next door, a two story Cape Cod.  Maybe a little too close for comfort, and he only hoped Napoleon didn’t come knocking to borrow sugar or some such.

Illya did a quick survey of the premises. It was neat and clean though a bit worn. Basic really. A small furnished sitting room with a black and white television set, furnished dining area, The two bedrooms were small, though the upstairs could be used as sleeping space as well. 

There was no dormer so it was not exactly meant to be walked around, still the upper windows gave him a good view of next store as well as the surrounding area.

The kitchen was compact and to his surprise Illya found the cabinets and refrigerator fully stocked, including a take out order of chicken chow mein and other delights in the fridge.  He grabbed an egg roll, and though it was cold, he bit into it...he was hungry as usual.

Waverly thought of everything, well almost everything as there was no bottle of vodka in the freezer.

Illya shrugged as he could live without it.

He’d unpack later as it was time to set up his survey equipment. A high powered telescope as well as binoculars.  There was no need to set up a camera as he’d have no way of quickly developing the film.

He laid out his disguises, ready for use...false noses, more moustaches, wigs, hats, glasses, more sunglasses. His clothing was kept casual and appropriate for the weather; the gaudy old man outfit he’d used on the ferry had been a one time use. He even had a dress or two, something an older lady might wear as well as summer straw hats, support stockings and orthopedic shoes to complete that ensemble

Illya would rely on his memory to recognize any potential threats to his partner. Hopefully there would be none, and it would be an easy weak, though one without benefit of air conditioning. Nor could Illya chance going in the water, lest his partner spot him.  

He couldn’t chance swimming even when Napoleon had bedded down for the evening as that was prime time for sharks to be feeding…  

Kuryakin reminded himself this was not about his needs or comforts; he was here to protect Napoleon Solo and keep him out of harm’s way.  
  
Illya had done it before, but never as an assignment; he would not let Mr. Waverly down as he’d given his word. That was above and beyond his duty his friendship with Napoleon.

Still, the man was his best friend and had welcomed him with open arms to UNCLE and to his new home in America. He could not let Napoleon be harmed, it was as simple as that.

 

****

Setting down his suitcase on the living room floor, Napoleon took a few minutes to explore his humble quarters. It was clean, not too shabby. The furnishings were dated but in good shape.

The first thing he did was to open the windows and let things air out a bit, and he took a deep breath, taking in more of the salt air.

The bedroom looked good, and he hopped on the full sized bed, testing it out.  There was a bit of a squeak that made him chuckle. At least if he had any assignations, there weren’t any neighbors or partners to disturb.

His thoughts went to Illya, wondering if he should have invited his best friend to come down for a day or two if he wasn’t on assignment. Then again, Illya wasn’t a big one for the beach and it was hot too, something else his partner didn’t care for.

On the coffee table was a printed piece of paper extolling the virtues of the town, the beach,  Keansburg Amusement Park, the Dance Hall Auditorium, Keansburg Bowling Alley, the Casino Theater (the theater had no heating plant, and operated summers only on the beachfront.) as well as the famous Dixie Lee Bakery established in the early 1930s and was an attraction because of some confection called a ‘black and white.’

Up the coast in a place called the Highlands, was a marina where one could go out for deep sea fishing on a charter boat, and the view of Manhattan could be seen from the historic The Twin Lights in Highlands that overlooked Sandy Hook Bay, the entrance to the New York Harbor and the Atlantic Ocean. The Twin Lights, as the name implied, were a pair of beacons located 246 feet above sea level on the headlands of the Navesink Highlands.

The State of New Jersey had recently acquired the lighthouse,  restoring the lights that had been non-operational since the 1950’s and it had become a local tourist attraction.

“Sounds exciting...not,” Napoleon mumbled. “Maybe there’ll be some nightlife here, though nothing to compare to New York.”

Napoleon decided to hit the beach as it was still early enough, and changed into his new navy blue bathing suit with the matching terry cloth jacket.  With his sunglasses propped on top of his head, a beach towel tossed over his shoulder, and a throw blanket draped over his arm. He set out down the street carrying a small cooler he’d filled with ice, heading towards a liquor store only a block away, to buy a six pack of beer.

He’d brought a bottle of scotch with him from home, but that was for his evening nightcaps...or if he had some company.

Once Napoleon accomplished his mission, he crossed \ the street to the nearby beach, not far from the amusement park.

He was far enough to just hear the echoing screams and laughter of the people enjoying the rides, but not so loud that it disturbed the tranquility of the beach.

The park was nothing fancy with the usual attractions such as bumper cars, a carousel, a small roller coaster and a giant slide that one would ride down on a carpet and of course there was the requisite Spook house, where lovers could sneak some alone time. There were dozens more rides as well, appropriate for children.

  


The arcade was line with games of chance and plenty of places to eat the usual fast food like pizza, burgers and hot dogs.

In a way Napoleon had found himself a place to relax that was filled with innocence and childhood delights.  It would do, until he became antsy and he knew he eventually would.

He walked onto the beach, wearing a pair of loafers to protect his feet from the hot sand, and found himself a spot far enough away from the throngs of kiddies splashing around in the surf,  building sand castles with their brightly colored plastic buckets and play shovels.

Napoleon spread his blanket, and sitting down, he removed his terrycloth jacket and reached into the cooler, pulling out a bottle of Coppertone suntan lotion.  It wouldn’t do for him to return to work with a nasty sunburn.

After applying the cool white cream to his arms, chest and legs...and most importantly his face he found getting his back would be a problem.

“Hi there,” he turned his head as he heard the greeting.

There stood a rather shapely blonde in the proverbial yellow polka dot bikini. “Could you use some help putting lotion on your back, I sort of need help too so maybe we can…” 

“Hello to you too, and that’s a kind offer which I’m more than willing to reciprocate.”

“Gee thanks. I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward.”She knelt on the blanket beside him. “You have needs...I have needs and I think we can take care of them.”

Upon hearing that, he went into instant flirting mode, flashing her one of his charming smiles. “But first I think introductions are at least in order?”

“Oh yes, sorry. My name is Cindy; I’m staying in one of the bungalows down the street. I’m just here on a little vacation to get away from the rat race; I heard how quaint this town is and figured I’d check it out.”

“Me too. My name’s Napoleon.”

“Wow such an exotic name; sounds like something out of a James Bond movie.”

“Yes,” he chuckled.” I’ve heard that before. There’s a tradition in my family to name the boys after famous military men...my dad’s the army.  I have a brother named... well he has an unusual name too.” He bit his tongue, deciding not to reveal any further personal information as one never knew…

“So,” Cindy smiled, flirting back at him, “Do you want to do me first, I mean the suntan lotion that is….maybe later we can go for a drink over my place.”

Napoleon refrained from rolling his eyes as this was just too good to be true. Maybe it was just his lucky day, a bit of the Solo luck?

“That sounds like a plan,” he squirted some lotion onto her back, slowly applying it in a sensual massage-like motion.

“Oh that feels good. You have very talented hands,” she purred.

“Oh I have other parts that are even more talented.”

Napoleon laid down on his stomach as she rubbed the lotion onto his skin in equally sensual motions.

“Napoleon do you mind if I share your blanket with you while I tan. I forgot to bring one and only have a small towel.”

“Be my guest Cindy, there’s room enough for two.”

“Great, would you mind opening the back to my top. I just hate having tan lines.”

Solo nodded with a wry smile. “My pleasure.”

She held onto her top as he undid it, keeping it from falling off, but the girl made sure to give him a little peak at her cleavage before she laid down on the blanket.

“Life is good,” Napoleon thought to himself as he leaned back beside her, resting on his elbows as he simply watched the activity on the beach and out on the water, while periodically glancing at the shapely derriere of Miss Cindy. Part of him was regretting not having brought the Pursang, but c’est la vie.”

Together he and girl drank the six pack of beer, and he offered to get her another cool drink, as they sold cups of beer at the concession stand nearby.

She was getting tipsy and more flirtatious, so he figured why not? The lady seemed open to his own libidinous comments.

He got up, telling her he’d be right back. Napoleon decided more beer was in order.

He headed off to the boardwalk, past a not-so-scary spook house to where he recalled seeing a sign for Budweiser.

 

 

Kuryakin had been sitting a ways down the beach under an umbrella to protect his fair skin. He’d rented a surfboard though he had no intention of trying to use it as it was more of a cover for him to hide behind as it was propped up in the sand.  He was far enough away from Napoleon that he used his binoculars to keep an eye on his partner.

At first he wasn’t surprised that the man had attracted a pretty girl, sometimes to Illya that it seemed more like a moth to a flame. Napoleon was by no means a cruel man when it came to women, but he was still a love them and leave them man; it was drawback to being a covert agent...no attachments allowed. 

Still the girl seemed to move in on Napoleon a bit too quickly and that didn’t sit well with the Russian.

As soon as his partner disappeared towards the Arcade, no doubt to a concession, Illya made his move.

“Excuse me Miss,” Illya lifted his sunglasses as he spoke to her.

“Yes?” She raised her chin.

“The man you are with, did he tell you his name was Napoleon?”

“Yes he did, why?”

“Oh drat...I am sorry to say that you are in danger. My name is Doctor Eric Leopold and I am here incognito. I am from the Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital; you have heard of it, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s the nut house isn’t it?”

“You could say that, though it is not a polite way of putting it.”

“So what about it?”

“Well you see the man you have been with here is a former patient. I have been keeping an eye on him. He was given a conditional release from the hospital and him being with you has already violated the parameters of his release. Napoleon is a _nom de guerre_ he uses when he reverts to one of his multiple personalities, many of whom abuse young women such as yourself. If I were you I would leave immediately for your own safely.” 

Kuryakin watched with complete satisfaction as the girl’s face blanched. She grabbed her towel, wrapping it around herself, not even trying to refasten her bathing top.

“Oh my God, thank you so much. He seemed so normal.”

“That is how he lures in his victims. Best you be off before he returns.”

The girl was gone in a shot, disappearing across the street and out of sight down the block.  Illya too retreated back to his spot beneath the umbrella and watched as Napoleon returned holding two cups of beer in his hands, looking around in confusion as to where the girl had gone. 

He noticed her towel was missing as well, and thought she took a dip in the water. Scanning the shore line, he saw no sign of her.

“Damn,” Napoleon muttered to himself, guessing he’d been strung along. “Oh well, you win some, you lose some.” Besides his vacation had just begun; he had plenty of time to hook up with someone.

He sat down on the blanket, swallowing one beer and then the other.  After letting his annoyance dissipate, he finally gathered his things and headed back to his his house.

Illya quickly returned the surfboard, though the man who’d rented it to him was confused as it obviously hadn’t been used.

“Waves weren’t umm, gnarly enough... _dude,_ ” Illya muttered as he headed off after his partner, still remaining at a discreet distance.

Napoleon showered to get rid to the sand and the lotion, and Illya did the same; he knew his partner’s bathroom habits and that gave him opportunity to clean up as well. 

It was nearing supper time and it was easily observable when Napoleon began to prepare his dinner...his usual bill of fare which was a thick steak, asparagus with hollandaise sauce, a baked potato, along with a Caesar salad, all this was accompanied by wine and probably an after dinner cigar and a glass of scotch. 

Yes, in some ways Solo was predictable, but then again no one knew him as well as Kuryakin, which made this assignment just a smidge easier

Illya took the time to warm up his Chinese food. There were large containers of Chicken Chow Mein, Beef with broccoli, roast pork Egg Foo Yung, and another three egg rolls, shrimp toast, as well a large container of egg drop soup.

Who ever ordered it for him, knew his preferences well enough; most likely it was Lisa Rogers who’d sent out for Chinese food for him on many’s the time he was working night duty.

He was hungry but decided to keep the Egg Foo Yung for breakfast as it would be quick to just warm up in a frying pan. 

Surveying the rest of his food supplies, he found mostly cold cuts and cheese for sandwiches, ground beef, hamburger rolls, condiments, butter, a package of breakfast sausages, a dozen eggs, a loaf of Wonderbread. Lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers for salad. Tea, thank goodness, and a jar of seedless raspberry jam...Lisa no doubt  remembered that preference as well, and it made him smile. 

The food was nothing fancy but Illya wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It would do. 

After wolfing down his meal, Kuryakin again took to looking in on his partner.  It was now nine o’clock and Napoleon was indeed smoking his cigar and sipping his scotch.  Chances were he was in for the night as Illya watched the cigar being snuffed out and the glass filled with scotch one more time. 

Napoleon propped up his feet after turning on the television set and Illya watched as his partner dozed off to that silly show…’Candid Camera.’  It surprised him that a sophisticated man like Solo would be interested in such drivel.

No double the sun, beer and a filling meal with drinks did him in. He was, after all, in need of rest and recuperation. Illya supposed Solo’s body and mind were being reminded of that. 

The Russian waited until Napoleon finally rose and readied himself for bed and that was Illya’s cue to do the same. Being aware of the American’s usual time to rise, his partner set his own alarm an hour earlier. If he could manage it, he planned to bug the abode; that might help him with the surveillance.

There was no way he could do any bugging while his partner was there. Napoleon was too light a sleeper; no, he’d have to wait for the opportune moment to get in and quickly plant a listening device and get out without being caught. 

Knowing his partner’s predictability when it came to his sleeping habits would give the Russian time to shower in the morning, take care of breakfast and choose whichever disguises he thought he might need for the day.

It wouldn’t do for him to just follow Napoleon without masking himself. Solo was always aware of his surroundings and would spot him in a heartbeat 

The next morning Napoleon rose exactly at the time Kuryakin had anticipated; after the man showered, shaved he dressed himself casually, a pair of khaki pants, and a polo shirt...that meant no beach. Hopefully there would be no car rental involved as Illya would then have to engage a taxi to follow.

Illya quickly donned a pastel floral dress, a ladies grey wig, and a straw bonnet. He slipped into a pair of heavier stockings and those orthopedic shoes he’d brought. For a finishing touch he added a pair of silver rimmed spectacles. Beneath the dress he again wore a tee shirt and boardshorts.

Carrying a paper shopping bag with him, it contained another dress, this one plain grey, a different wig and hat, just enough of a change to make him disappear, or if need be he could switch to his surfer look.He carried a wooden cane that, at the flick of a switch, would change to an umbrella.

The sidewalks were busy with vacationers and children heading to the arcade and Illya waited a moment to see the direction in which Napoleon would go. Of course, buried in the folds of his dress was hidden his gun.

Napoleon headed away from the beach, taking a long and leisurely stroll, and though Illya caught up to him at one point, it was risky but fortuitous as he heard his partner ask where the Dixie Lee Bakery was located.

Hearing the directions, Illya followed for a while as the old woman, but he thought Solo might be suspicious of someone elderly walking so far. Americans did not walk to places here like people did back home in Russian.

He ducked behind some nearby bushes and quickly became the surfer dude, replete with a blond goatee this time and a different style of sunglasses covered his eyes. On his head was a ragged painter’s hat, but instead of flip flops he wore a pair of moccasins. His board shorts and tee-shirt differed from the ones he’s worn previously. This time the shirt was a faded khaki green and the shorts were dark grey-green.

He observed through the window of the bakery, standing in the parking lot while his partner purchased a crumb cake and round black and white iced confections.

Apparently they were a thick, soft, sponge-cake-like shortbread that was iced on one half with vanilla and on the other half with chocolate.  They looked quite delicious, and of course Illya craved one, but he daren’t take the time to make the purchase and risk losing Napoleon. 

As Solo came out of the small bakery, he came face to face with the girl Cindy who had just turned the corner. He immediately greeted her with a friendly smile, but she turned white as a ghost. 

“Stay away from me... _you_!” The girl barked at him as she backed away. Turning, she ran around the corner of the building, quickly disappearing down the street and leaving Napoleon standing there in a state of utter dismay.

He stood there for a moment while shaking his head, and momentarily lifted his arms to sniff his armpits. No he hadn’t forgotten to use deodorant… 

Napoleon sighed again before walking home in a state of mild confusion, nothing it was nothing he wouldn’t get over. He’d run into some dizzy dames before, and this wouldn’t be the last time, of that he was sure. 

After returning from the bakery with his purchases, he stowed them in the fridge and headed back out and down the block to the Amusement park. 

It was time for another disguise change for Kuryakin, and it was back to being an old lady...this time it was the plain dress, darker wig and a different sun hat.  Still carrying his shopping bag with yet another change of clothes, Illya followed Napoleon, again at a distance. 

He watched as  his partner surveyed the arcade, and people as they enjoyed the rides. Napoleon was smiling at the screams and giggles of those on the roller coaster.

Of course he had no intention of partaking in any of the rides, his life was one big roller coaster as it was. Getting into a fist fight atop a speeding train blew the thrill of a roller coaster away any day…

Solo sauntered back to the arcade, taking in a few of the games of chance...Illya was just a few booths away standing in front of a target shooting amusement.

“Care to try your hand Ma’am?”The attendant asked.

“Oh sonny, I could not hit the broad side of a barn.” He spoke with a very shaky voice, sounding a bit like Katherine Hepburn.

“Why not give it a try, just for fun. Six shots for a quarter.”

Illya realized he couldn’t just stand there watching his partner and decided to take the shots...they were only BB guns and not real rifles.

He reached into his shoulder bag and drew out the requisite quarter, and picked up one of the guns.

The attendant turned a switch and everything began to move. There were metal ducks swimming past, a monkey swinging back and forth on a vine, and in the middle there was the image of a fairly small bumble bee flitting around from yellow metal daisy to another.

Illya took his stance, aimed and fired off five rounds in succession, hitting four ducks, the monkey and as he aimed again, he hit the bee as well.

The attendant stood with his mouth agape. “Wow.” 

“Beginner’s luck dearie,”Illya said as he put down the gun.

“You ummm, win the big prize lady. Pick any of the stuffed toys hanging from the left wall.” The young man stood there scratching his head. 

“How’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“My father was a Russian spy,” Illya quipped, giving him a wink.

“A Russkie…” the man hesitated,” you’re pulling my leg aren’t you?”

“Yes sonny I am. My ummm, late husband taught me. He was from Texas and a great hunter in his time.”

“Now why don’t you pick your prize then grandma, you earned it.” 

Illya scanned the wall of stuffed toys, now regretting his accuracy with the BB gun. The last thing he needed was to lug around a monstrous toy half his height.

“No that is all right. What would I do with such a thing.” 

“Got any grandkids?”

“No I am afraid not.”

There was a little dark haired girl standing nearby dressed in pink shorts and a matching striped top staring longingly at the toys. After checking to make sure Napoleon was still close by, Illya suddenly decided to pick the big brown Teddy bear with a big red bow tied round its neck as it reminded him a Russian bear.  

“I have changed my mind; I will take that one.” 

He handed it to the child, though it was bigger than she. 

The girl wrapped her arms around it with pure delight. 

“Thank you lady!” She proceeded to wobble off with it, “I have to show my mommy!” 

“You are welcome child, just be careful while you walk with it.”

“I promise!” 

Illya turned, seeing Napoleon had strolled to a hot dog stand and was ordering lunch, though he noted his partner skipped the onion toppings this time.

That meant only one thing, Solo was on the lookout for a lady to woo.

While he was eating, that was Illya’s chance to change into yet another disguise. This time it was a pair of faded jeans, a white tee shirt and a fishing hat to cover his hair. He quickly applied a false nose, and added a different pair sunglasses.  He bought an order of something called zeppole, and watched as the clerk put the fried dough in a paper bag, added some confectioner’s sugar and shook it.

Illya drew one out of the bag; this zeppole confection was still warm and with the sugar...well he rolled his eyes; it were delicious.

He polished off the others as he continued to follow his partner. Nothing like a bit of sugar to help the energy level, albeit a temporary boost.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of Napoleon amusing himself in the arcade, until he finally took off out to the beach, strolling in the wet sand. He rolled up his pant legs, after which he removed his loafers, carrying them in his hand.

It was a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky. The water was calm, and sparkling as the sun reflected on its surface.  Nearby he could hear seagulls squawking and wailing perhaps answering to the distant caws of other seagulls farther out over the ocean.

He chatted up a few of the bathing beauties along the way, but apparently there were no takers to his flirtatious ways.

That was until he met a woman dressed in a white diaphanous caftan, who like he, had removed her shoes and was just strolling along the surf. She was blonde and beautiful, and his trained eyes enabled him to tell that she was wearing nothing beneath that caftan...

“Beautiful day for a walk isn’t it?” Napoleon smiled; he lifted his sunglasses, letting them rest atop his head.

“Why yes it is? Are you a local?”

“No, just visiting, and yourself?”

“Oh I took the ferry over from New York, just to get away from work… at headquarters.”

Solo stiffened as she said that. “And which headquarters might that be?”

“Oh the U.N. I’m a secretary there.  I have to say you look a little familiar to me. Do you work at the United Nations too?”

“No, but I’ve been there on a occasion. My name is Solo, Napoleon Solo, and you are?”

“Napoleon Solo? I’ve heard that name, though I can’t recall the context. Are you with a diplomatic corps?  
  
“You could say that, though I’d rather not talk shop...I didn’t get your name?”

“Oh my apologies, it’s Minerva Jones.”

“Hmmm, Minerva, was the Roman goddess of wisdom, war, art, schools, and commerce.” He smiled and went right into flirtation mode.

She laughed ever so softly. “Yes the goddess was born of Metis, who had been swallowed by Jupiter, and burst from her father's head, fully armed and clad in armor. After impregnating the titaness Metis, Jupiter recalled a prophecy that his own child would overthrow him. Fearing that their child would grow stronger than he was and rule the Heavens in his place, Jupiter swallowed Metis whole. The titaness gave birth to Minerva nonetheless and forged weapons and armor for her child while within Jupiter's body. The constant pounding and ringing gave him a headache. To relieve the pain, Vulcan used a hammer to split Jupiter's head and, from the cleft, Minerva emerged, whole, adult, and bearing her mother's weapons and armor.  Though I assure you I bear no weapons nor do wear armor...or much else,”she flirted.

“Ahhh, beautiful and witty as well. Minerva, would you care to join me for dinner tonight. It would be refreshing to have some intelligent conversation while on my little vacation. After dinner we can get to know each other a bit more intimately, if you like?”

“Napoleon, what woman could resist your handsome face as well as your charms. It’s a date. Do you have a pen?”

 Solo pulled his communicator which was also a functioning pen and handed it to her.

“Give me your hand please?”

She quickly jotted down her address on his palm, and handed him back the pen.

“You could have just told me,” he chuckled

“Where would the fun have been in that. 27 Gillette Street. it isn’t far off Beachway. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

“I look forward it,” Napoleon gave a little nod; he turned and watched her as she continued down the beach.  

Returning to his rental, he had a bit of a spring in his step as he most likely would get lucky tonight. That made all thoughts of the bikini girl Cindy dissipate into nothingness.

Kuryakin knew he needed to follow the woman; He’d overheard where she was staying, and that was all he needed. There was something about her that did not sit well with the Russian at all; call it gut instinct.

Taking off; he headed directly to the address she’d given Napoleon as this Minerva woman seemed to be remaining on the beach.

He located a small bungalow several blocks farther in from the shore; going to the backdoor, Illya quickly picked the lock.  It took him only a few minutes to hide a several bugs... in the chandelier in the sitting room, another in the kitchen and one in the bedroom.

After locking the door behind himself, Illya headed home, hoping that Napoleon had done the same.

As luck would have it Solo did. He knew Napoleon would be getting ready for his date by taking an extra long shower, shaving and taking care of any other personal grooming. When it came to preparing for an evening, Napoleon was a creature of habit. Once done with his personal preparations, he’d iron his clothes.  No formal suit though, a sports jacket, a polo shirt and coordinated trousers...Illya knew that’s what Napoleon would wear.

While his partner was in the shower, he seized the opportunity to plant a couple of bugs, then scurried home before Napoleon caught him.

Once his skullduggery was complete Kuryakin settled in to listen in on Minerva Jones.

“I tell you it’s the real Napoleon Solo,” she sounded quite excited.

Another voice spoke, obviously she was using some sort of communications device and not a telephone.

“Then meet with him, and take him out. literally. THRUSH will be well rid of him. It was very fortuitous that you ran into him while on your silly little holiday.”

“Well it won’t be silly once I’ve killed Solo.” 

“And just how will you do that my dear?”

“Oh simple, I’ll just poison his drink. It’ll take about a half hour to work. I’ll just tell him in the middle of dinner that I have a headache and leave. Of course he’ll insist to escort me home, at which point I will raise my glass in a toast and say ‘to the last real gentlemen left alive on earth,’ that will be quite fun to watch him swallow his wine knowing that won’t be true for much longer.”

“Very well Minerva, you will of course confirm the kill and report back to me.”

“You can count on me. Out.”

He shut down the listening equipment, and immediately changed to a black turtleneck, black trousers and headed out with his gun safely nestled by his back, beneath his shirt.

It was time to chase off that bird or do a little bird hunting.

Illya knocked at the woman’s door, and as she opened it her eyes went wide with surprise. She tried slamming it in his face, but Illya already had his foot in the opening.

He quickly pushed his way in, immediately drawing his weapon.

“Hello Minerva...I take it you know who I am?”

“Ye...ye, yes,” she stammered.”You’re Kuryakin.”

“Good, no need for introductions. Now as to your little plan to kill my partner; that is just not going to happen. I will give you two choices; leave town now, or stay and die. It is up to you. Oh and I would not try drawing any weapon on me, or use any other THRUSH gadget such as a dart loaded cigarette.  There are real bullets in this gun, not sleep darts and I have no compunction against killing a woman. Understood?”

“Yes, and I’ll leave if you don’t mind?”  

“Smart decision. Now pack your things quickly. Where is your weapon?”

“In my purse, there on the table.”He confiscated her gun, and anything else that looked like a THRUSH device.

Illya watched as she packed her clothing, and he called for a taxi to take her to the ferry.

“Are you going to give me back my things, a girl feels naked without them.”

“Not on your life.”

Once her case was locked, he escorted her out the door, covering his gun within a newspaper as he continued to aim it at the woman.

When the taxi arrive, Minerva’s suitcase was loaded into the trunk.

Illya handed a $20 bill to the driver, giving him explicit instructions.“Take her straight to the ferry. She is to get on it. No side trips or detours. Do not listen to anything she says.”

“Gee thanks Mac, I’ll make sure she does.”

Kuryakin returned his attention to the woman.

“You understand Minerva, there will be consequences if you do not get on that ferry? And do not send any of your feathered friends back here to continue with your plan. I will be waiting for them.”

“Yes sir I do, and I won’t.” Her tanned face looked unusually pale, as the Russian’s threatening blue eyes had done their work on her.

Illya watched as the taxi drove off; he’d planted a listening device, just a small disc beneath the collar of her blouse and switched on his communicator to listen in on any conversation.

“You in trouble or something Miss? “The driver asked.” He was a scary looking guy...I wouldn’t mess with him in a dark alley”

“Me? Not anymore, and yes he is that sort of man. Now just get to that ferry and fast.”

“You got it lady.”

While listening in, ensuring Minerva was out of the way, he left a note on her door addressed to his partner.

 

**_Dear Napoleon, I’m so sorry, but I was called back to New York to nurse a sick aunt._ **

**_Minerva_ **

 

Illya headed back to check just in time to duck out of sight to observe his partner was just locking his front door.

It was a beautiful evening and Napoleon was apparently walking to Minerva’s.  

Illya stuck to the shadows, as there was no time for him to change to yet another disguise; he would have to chance it.

When he arrived at Minerva’s rental, his reaction to the note was not a happy one. Kuryakin could hear him cursing as he crumpled up the paper into a ball, tossing it to the ground.

 Illya continued to follow Napoleon as he headed down, obviously not in the direction of his cottage., watching Napoleon wandered back to Beachway until he came upon a local dive bar at the corner of Main Street.

He was annoyed to say the least, and now all he wanted was a couple of good stiff drinks.  He wasn’t accustomed to striking out like this…”Nursing a sick aunt my ass,” he mumbled to himself as he walked into the place.

 The establishment couldn’t have been anymore basic….a handmade bar, plain concrete floor, a couple of pool tables, and a beat up old juke box.  The walls were decorated with liquor signs and mirrors provided by the likes of Schlitz, Rheingold, Seagrams, Johnny Walker Red… It was for all intents and purposes, a local dive.

Illya peeked through a side window, watching as he partner bellied up to the bar, ordering a scotch on the rocks.

Standing beside Solo were a couple of ruffians, shirtless but wearing black leather vests and pants...bikers. Two similarly dressed men were playing a game of pool.

Kuryakin couldn’t quite hear what was said, but the locals apparently didn’t like Napoleon being there. He was able to read lips and the phrase ‘sissy boy’ stood out...that did not bode well.

He watched as Napoleon downed his drink and raised his hands in surrender, not wanting any trouble.  As he backed away towards the door, the others followed him.

“So not good,” Illya grumbled.

As soon as Napoleon got outside, the bikers jumped him. He put up a fight but was quickly knocked out, and as one of the men raised a baseball bat to smash in Solo’s head, Kuryakin jumped into action. He hit the one with the bat with a sleep dart, followed by two of the others.

Then a problem arose, as his gun misfired.  All Illya could do was go at the remaining biker with his fists and then his feet.  It took a few minutes, but the Russian finally took the man out with a well placed round house kick to the stomach, but not before taking a hard hit to his cheek and his lower lip.

No doubt he’d have a black eye for his troubles. Illya pulled his handkerchief to wipe the blood from his mouth, and winced as he touched his face. Black eye for sure...

He quickly pulled the sleep darts from the three men when Napoleon began to moan; that was Kuryakin’s signal to disappear.  He watched from the shadows as his partner staggered to his feet, adjusting his hair as well as his...torn jacket.

“I just can’t win.” Since this was a vacation, he wouldn’t be able to put the damaged jacket on an expense report, well just yet. He’d have to fudge it and put in on the report for his next assignment.

“Well don’t that beat all,” Napoleon chuckled as he observed the four downed me.

He was feeling rather pleased with himself at having taken out the goons.  He decided that was enough for tonight, despite his having struck out with Minerva. It was time to head home…

The next morning Solo contacted headquarters, requesting that he be permitted to return to work, even if that meant light duty.  He needed to be in his old stomping grounds, and not this little podunk town. Why he thought this was a good idea he’d never understand.

“I’ll be coming back on the afternoon ferry,” Napoleon reported to his boss. “I assure you I’m feeling much better sir.”

“Very well Mr. Solo, return if you feel must. I will however, want you to report to Doctor Greene to be checked out before I sign off on you returning to the field.”

“Understood sir. Solo out.”

When Illya heard that, he sighed with relief, and immediately contacted Mr. Waverly himself. 

“I just heard my partner wishes to return to work. I must admit, this was not as easy an assignment as I thought it would be sir. He kept me busier than I thought he would; still I managed to keep him out of harm’s way on several occasions.”

“Then I will say it was a job well done Mr. Kuryakin. I will expect you at headquarters then, and try not to arrive at the same time as Mr. Solo.”

‘I will endeavor to do so sir, out.” 

Napoleon packed his belongings and walked to the dock to catch the ferry back to the city. He paid no attention to an older gentleman who stood farther back waiting for the boat.

Illya had chosen a simple palate of colors for this final disguise; a plain grey cardigan, over a pale brown plaid shirt...short sleeve this time, and dark brown trousers that were a little baggy.  He wore a grey wig and moustache, a false nose as well as makeup,  and an oversized pair of sunglasses to help hide his blossoming black eye.  He kept a white handkerchief in hand, covering his mouth with it while pretending to cough to prevent his split lip from being seen. 

Keeping his distance from his partner wasn’t difficult and as soon as the ferry docked at Battery Park Kuryakin made a stealthy disembarkment. He hailed a taxi with a loud whistle, and once inside he ripped off his wig, false nose and moustache.  

“There is an extra ten dollars in it for you if you can get me to this address in under ten minutes,” Illya handed him a piece of paper with the address of Del Floria’s written on it.

“Sure thing buddy, I can do that for a sawbuck.” The driver hit the meter and took off into traffic.  Dodging in and out of traffic he made it to Del Floria’s in record time.

Illya paid the fare, gave a tip and the promised sawbuck to the delighted cabbie.

“Say Mister, what made you want to get to a cleaners so fast?”

“I need to have my Halloween costume mended and pressed.”

“Halloween? Hey it’s only September,” the driver looked confused.

“I know…” Kuryakin closed the door and bounded down the stairs into the tailor shop.  

Del Floria canted his head to the side, but smiled when realized it was the Russian dressed in clothing that was not the man’s style.

“Del,” Kuryakin nodded as the man hit the steam press twice. He went straight to the dressing room, turned the hook and stepped inside.

“Hi Illya,” Wanda greeted him.

“Any news of Mr. Solo’s whereabouts?” He got right to the point.

“Hi Wanda how are you today?” She said sarcastically.

“Sorry, no time for pleasantries. Now. _..Napoleon_?”

She huffed as she looked to her monitor. “He’s walking down the steps of Del Floria’s right now.”

Illya’s eyes went wide. “You did not see me just now, understood, and my apologies for my rudeness; I will make it up to you, I promise.”  

He took off through the security door, dashing down the corridor to the elevator. Taking it to the floor where the office he shared with Solo was located, and quickly entered.

Opening the closet door, he pulled out one of his suits, a clean white shirt and a tie. There were shoes and socks as well and after he stripped and changed, he shoved his disguise into his valise. That he put on the closet floor and shut the door.

He sat down at his desk and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a white towel. Illya used it to wipe the remnants of makeup from his face.

Just as the pneumatic doors opened, he shoved the towel out of sight, slamming the drawer closed. 

Not missing a beat, he bent over and picked up his typewriter from the floor. Inserting a blank report sheet in the roller; he prepared to begin composing something...anything.

“Well hello there. Nice shiner, do I detect a fat lip as well?”Napoleon grinned as he pointed to his partner’s black eye. “Miss me?” 

“I have been too busy to miss you my friend. How was the vacation? You are back sooner than I expected. Was there a problem?” 

“Yes,” Napoleon sighed as he slipped into his chair.” “Problem was that I was bored to death, and the women there were rather peculiar. I’d thought was hooking up with one or two, but they both left me in the lurch. I actually got into a bar fight and took out a half dozen biker types...guess I haven’t lost my touch in that respect.”

“Four,” Illya mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“For..tuitous you have gotten back your ...what is the word, mojo?” 

Napoleon rolled his chair closer to his partner. “So how’d you get the black eye and the lip?”

“Like you...a bar fight. I managed take out four goons and come away relatively unscathed.”

Napoleon squinted, looking more closely at the Russian. “Well my six beats your four,” he grinned. You have makeup behind your ears. Wearing a disguise or two recently?”

“Yes, my last assignment necessitated it. I did not have time to shower as I only just returned myself.”

“Really? Where was the assignment?”

Illya gave him the stink eye. “Napoleon, you know I cannot discuss that until after Mr. Waverly has read my report.”

“Well excuse me Mister Moody. And here I brought this for you.” Napoleon set a pastry box in front of Illya, tucked in the twine was a postcard.

“Why thank you,” Illya cringed, regretting his testiness. He opened the box, and in it were a few of those black and white pastries.

 That made Kuryakin smile, mostly with relief. The questions his partner had asked roused Illya’s suspicions but perhaps it was a coincidence, still... one never knew with Napoleon Solo


End file.
